


Not Until I Met You

by Fujusan



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Enjolras, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fujusan/pseuds/Fujusan
Summary: It wasn’t his fault he was blind; he was just born that way. He didn’t really have a problem with it, at least, not at first. He didn’t need to see, for surely, he thought, there was nothing of interest to see. That is, until he met a certain cynic. The one who sat in the back of the cafe, beer in one hand, sometimes both, and who never spoke if not to pick a fight. The one who, regardless of the fact he couldn’t see him, drew him in like no person had ever done before.





	1. Chapter 1

“You just don’t understand, Enj! He’s gorgeous! This time it’s love for sure, I tell you!” Enjolras rolled his eyes. Courfeyrac was always finding new people to fawn over, and it was never very long before he got bored and moved on. He knew that this would pass in about a week, and that he and Combeferre would be stuck listening to his endless rambling once more, and the protests that, indeed, this one was different. 

“Right, just like you were in love with Jacques, and Antoine, and let us not forget how madly in love you were with Etienne.” Courf let out a whine of protest, lightly punching Enjolras’ arm. 

“Those were different. His hair, the softest shade of strawberry blonde, and his eyes, Enj, they’re the most beautiful shade of hazel you’ve ever seen!” Enjolras let out a snort of laughter. 

“I don’t think there’s very much competition for that one, Courf,” Combeferre replies, the sarcasm dripping in his voice as he speaks exactly what Enjolras was thinking. Sometimes, it would seem that the two were telepathically connected, almost always knowing what the other was thinking. It was simply just because they had grown up together, had been friends ever since Enjolras could remember. Combeferre couldn’t care any less about the fact that Enjolras couldn’t do a lot of things that little kids wanted to do, roughhousing and the like. He was quite content with just talking, sometimes for hours on end, from sunrise to sunset, even when they were little kids. Courf came later on, when the two were in Middle School, and he too did not care about Enjolras’ impediment. Until freshman year of college, it was just the three of them. Slowly, new additions were made, Feuilly from Courf’s shop class, Joly from ‘Ferre’s biology class, and eventually all the others. 

“You know what I meant,” Courf sighs, laying his head on Enjolras’ lap, leaving the latter to stroke his fingers through his hair. Enjolras always loved to play with Courf’s hair, even when they were younger, but that was considered the ‘gay’ thing to do. Not that it mattered, because, even then, Enjolras was very, very gay. Courf, of course, would screw anything that walked, and Ferre? To the common eye, it would seem as though he felt no attraction at all. “He’s different, I know it.”

“Alright, Courf, whatever you say,” He pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead and proceeded to face where Combeferre was presumably sat cross-legged on the bed beside him. He was only like this around the two of them; to anyone else, he would seem cold, heartless, and reserved. But the second it was just the three of them, the walls came crumbling just as fast as they had been built. “Read me the one about the LGBT rights again, ‘Ferre. That seems to be the most pressing issue.” Though he could not read it, Enjolras took great interest in the daily newspaper. He was very much so into politics, and was studying to become a lawyer. Anyone that knew Enjolras would say that, without a doubt, being a lawyer was his destiny. 

“It’s perfect,” Courf had said when Enjolras had decided his freshman year of college that yes, he was going to study law, “You’re stubborn, loud-” Enjolras had slapped him before he could finish the sentence, but he had known that it was the truth. 

He was well informed about global issues, and could recite the facts of almost any court case by heart. Hence why he started Les Amis de l’ABC. It had started as just a few people at a small table in the corner of the cafe, ranting about the horror and oppression the government had brought down upon them, but had eventually grown to 7 main members, and a whole lot of followers. They were considered a controversial group, though that title wasn’t anything to take seriously; in the day and age they lived in, anything that went against the government was considered ‘controversial’, and a person could, in fact, be sentenced to jail time. That, however, never stopped any of Les Amis, especially not Enjolras. If anything, it just made him push harder. The group met every Friday, at a small cafe right outside of the college campus called Le Cafe Musain. Together, they had organized protests, constructed leaflets and radio broadcasts, anything that would get the word out. In fact, that’s what the three were supposed to be working on, not listening to Courf carry on about his latest infatuation. 

“Well, nothing has been confirmed yet, but they are trying to revoke the legalization of same-sex marriages.”

“Lucky for me, I’m never getting married,” Courf laughs, but Enjolras doesn’t find it funny. Growing up in an intolerant household, he’s always found homophobia to be quite repulsive, even before he decided that he himself would much prefer to suck dick. So, with this court ruling around the corner, Enjolras was definitely not in the mood for Courf’s jokes.

“Maybe not, Courf, but other people are. Take Joly and Bossuet, for example. They’ve been together, what, six years now? They’re bound to get married eventually, and I’m sure they would much appreciate their marriage counting for something.” Joly was their resident medical student, a few years older than the trio, and Bossuet was his clumsy, unlucky partner in crime. 

“I guess. So, what are we going to do about it, chief?” Enjolras was undoubtedly the group’s fearless leader. However, he couldn’t do it without Combeferre and Courf. Combeferre turned the wild ideas into something useable, something that would work, and Courf? Though everyone knew he meant well, keeping quiet about things was by no means his strong suit. Be it as it may, it worked in the Amis’ favor, especially when the word needed to be spread quicker than pamphlets and leaflets could spread it. 

“We should start by having Joly and Feuilly on air. Let’s say, tonight at 8? ‘Ferre, you’re in charge of the physical stuff; leaflets, pamphlets, etcetera. Courf? You’re going to help me draft a speech. Pride day is around the corner, and we need to be ready. We’ll get into more detail at the Musain tonight of course, but for now, anything that’s in here, you’re free to use.” He could feel Combeferre standing up, most likely to search for stationary, and Courf moved to fill in the space he had left, opening his laptop, fingers at the ready. 

“Alright, Enj, talk to me.”  
***  
By the time 6 o’clock rolled around Enjolras and Courfeyrac had drafted not one, but three different speeches, and ‘Ferre had drafted quite a number of different leaflet designs, all of which Enjolras reassured him probably looked amazing. “I feel like this one is too blue. There’s blue in the flag, in the sky, on the walls, everywhere.” Enjolras shrugged, not really caring about how blue the leaflet was, as long as it got the message out. 

“Then just recolour it,” Courf suggested, closing the lid of his laptop and going over to where ‘Ferre was sat, staring intensely at the admittedly rather blue pamphlet. “Just do it in black and white; sophisticated, yet simple.

“Who are you to talk about color schemes, Courf? Last I checked, red and purple most certainly do not match.” Courfeyrac scoffed, and then walked back over the bed to drape himself over Enjolras’ frame, sighing longingly. 

“Yet another thing about my love, he never wears matching patterns, and yet, he pulls it off so gracefully, so flawlessly, so effortlessly.” Enjolras could practically feel Combeferre’s eyeroll from across the room. “I swear to you, I’ll die if he is not mine. I will wither away into nothingness, become a shadow of my former self-”

“Courf?” Enjolras cut him off, “Have you ever actually talked to him?” Silence. 

“No, but I’ve heard him speak. He’s performed at the poetry slams we go to sometimes, but only once. He’s there every monday, wednesday, and friday, and sometimes he’ll perform, and sometimes he’ll just sit in the corner and watch.”

“Is that why you missed last week’s meeting?” Combeferre asks, a smirk on his face. He knew outright that Enjolras hadn’t in fact noticed Courf’s absence last week. Courfeyrac glared at him, and he just winked, going back to worrying about whether blue and gold were a good colour combination.

“So that’s why it was so quiet,” Enjolras muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Well, in any case, I’m sure you’ll get into his pants eventually, as soon as you grow a pair and actually speak to him. But for now, we must head out. ‘Ferre, did you contact Joly and Feuilly?” Combeferre nodded, and then, realizing that Enjolras couldn’t see it, let out a distant ‘mhm’ as he continued to mix colour combinations. 

“Feuilly’s bringing the broadcasting equipment, and Joly’s got the stuff they’re going to say all ready to go.” Enjolras nods in acknowledgement, and then proceeds to lightly push Courf off of his lap, and feel around for his cane. 

“Enj, if all of my love affairs turn out to be a complete bust, will you marry me?” Courf asked, a smirk on his face as he watched Enjolras desperately feel around for the metal stick.  
“I thought you said you weren’t getting married,” Enjolras muttered, becoming more and more frustrated about the elusive cane. Courf shrugged.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to die alone. Besides, you’re a good fuck.” Enjolras could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as Combeferre nearly choked on his own saliva.  
“What?” He asked, barely able to get the words about before he broke into a coughing fit. 

“Nothing,” Enjolras murmured, feeling his face become more and more red. “He said nothing.”

“Aww, c’mon, Enjy, don’t be embarrassed,” He felt Courf’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer to his chest. One of the very few things Enjolras had never shared with Combeferre was the small fling between him and Courf. It was junior year of high school, and both of them knew that they weren’t meant to be more than just friends. “I know you enjoyed it just as much as I did.” Thinking back on it, had he and Courf not been best friends, and had he had feelings for him other than the feelings generated by raging hormones, he wouldn’t have minded becoming more with him. Regardless of the fact that Courf was carefree and a very ‘go with the flow’ type of guy, and Enjolras the complete opposite, he liked Courf a lot. But not that way. 

“S-Sure, but-” He’s cut off by Combeferre, who simply just looks confused. 

“Wait, so you guys- When?” Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras closer, proceeding to gently run his fingers through their leader’s hair. 

“When was it Enj, junior year?” Enjolras was now positive that he looked like, as Courf called it, a fire hydrant. He nodded distantly, still feeling around for the damn cane before deciding that he'd just have to go without it. Not that he really minded, he knew the way to the Musain by heart, but it never hurt to have reinforcement, just in case. 

“Lasted about three months,” Enjolras murmured, leaning closer into Courfeyrac’s touch. He was in a cuddly mood today, which came few and far between. So, he let Courf caress his locks while he talked until Enjolras wanted to sink into the floorboards and never return. 

“Ah, yes, and what a lovely three months it was. I’m telling you, ‘Ferre, if you ever stop being such a prude, Enj here is amazing at giving head. Don’t let his blindness fool you into thinking he’s not well versed in the art of sex, because he’s quite the opposite. Hands of a God, this one. But he really hasn’t had any action since, which is why he’s always a cute little ball of sexual frustration. Yanno, Enj, if you ever need a quick fix-” 

“You know, forget I asked. We need to get going.” Enjolras chuckled at the way Combeferre sounded, so utterly uncomfortable that it was adorable. Courfeyrac helped him off the bed, and they proceeded to link arms, Combeferre taking the other side. They walked down the hall to the exit, and then down the flight of stairs that Enjolras liked to call the stairs of death. Whomever decided that having marble stairs outside was a good idea needed to be shot, Enjolras decided, shot and buried in an unmarked grave. They proceeded to walk the mile to Le Cafe Musain, chatting idly along the way, the conversation consisting mostly of Courfeyrac fawning over the poet, and the other two having no choice but to listen. Enjolras was just glad he wasn't mouthing off to Combeferre about the other things he and Courf had done in their three month romance. Courfeyrac was on his third rant about the poet’s eyes when Enjolras smelled the familiar scents of the Musain. He smiled, missing the place, even though it had only been a week since Les Amis had congregated in the very room they were headed to. It was the room in the back that not very many people knew of, nor cared about. The room always smelled like pine trees, with a hint of lingering cigarette smoke from nights past. The owner, Madame Houcheloup, never bothered them during their meetings, simply leaving the key outside the door for them to lock up when they were finished. Enjolras took his usual place at the table in the corner, Courfeyrac and Combeferre following suit. He could hear Combeferre muttering things in jumbled French under his breath, something he only did when he was irritated. Slowly, Enjolras placed his hand on ‘Ferre’s, making the latter fall silent. He cocked his head to the side, frowning.  
“What’s on your mind, ‘Ferre?” The older man sighed, squeezing Enjolras’ hand tight. 

“These damn pamphlets. I want them to be perfect, I want them to really spark something within the people. But I just can’t seem to get them right. I’m sorry, Enj, I really don’t know if I can do this. Isn’t there someone else you can ask?”

“‘Ferre, you’re the only person here that’s even remotely artistically talented, and you know that,” Courf said pointedly, taking a sip from the beer he had somehow already managed to retrieve. “Bahorel would break the damn supplies, Joly wouldn’t dare touch anything likely to make a mess, and Boss would probably poke his eye out with the pencil. Feuilly would insist on trying to discover the physics behind it before even daring to draw a line, and Marius wouldn’t know art if it hit him in the face with a stapler.”

“Well what about you,” Combeferre mumbled, refusing to admit that Courf had made a very valid point, “Surely you can draw something.” Courf let out a snort of laughter before proceeding to draw a crude interpretation of a stick figure. 

“And I actually tried on this one,” he said with a laugh as Combeferre wrinkled his nose in utter distaste. Enjolras sighed, tightening his grip even more on his friend’s hand. 

“If I could help, you know I would, but,” he trailed off, knowing that ‘Ferre was perfectly aware of the reason why. He smiled a bit. “If, however, you think squiggles would have the people marching in the streets, then I’ve got you covered.” Not long after, people started to arrive, drinks already in hand, smiles on their faces. Enjolras could hear Joly coming from across the room, on account of his cane thumping on the ground. He smiled, looking up in the direction in which he assumed Joly was coming from. “Hey, Jol.” 

“Hey, chief. Where do you want me and Feuilly to set up the equipment?” Enjolras shrugged. 

“Wherever you like.”

“Alright.” Enjolras could hear the grimace in his voice as he presumably took a wrong step, causing the pain in his hip to flare up once more. 

“Be careful, Jol. Don’t go too hard on yourself.” The medic nodded, though he knew his chief couldn’t see it.

“Don’t worry about me, Enj, I’m getting along fine.” And he proceeded to walk over to where Feuilly was, already beginning to set up the broadcasting equipment in the opposite corner of the room. 

“We should probably get going, Enj, before Bahorel gets too drunk to walk,” Courf joked, earning a hard glare from the man at the bar, and a middle finger. Enjolras slowly stood up, slowly climbing onto the table, and turning to face the crowd of people before him. He didn’t have to open his mouth before everyone went quiet, save for Joly and Feuilly, who were still trying desperately trying to figure out which wire went where. Enjolras didn’t mind; seeing as though they weren’t really a distraction, there was no reason too. He smiled a bit as Joly whined about how he wasn’t an electrician, and Feuilly reminded him for about the hundredth time that there indeed was a difference between what he did, and the job at hand.

“Alright, so as I’m sure all of you know, congress has decided to abuse their power, yet again, by moving to revoke the rights that the LGBT community was given nearly 20 years ago. This hasn’t gone unnoticed, and groups like us are starting to protest. But that isn’t enough. We need to get as many people involved as we can, and fast. The voting happens in a little over a month. We need to raise awareness or everything we’ve ever worked for, everything people have died for, will go to waste.” He did not speak after that, for there wasn’t much more to say. Enjolras knew how hard the bill would hit the members of Les Amis, and each of them had their own personal reasons to protest it. “We’ll start with the pamphlets. ‘Ferre has been working almost non stop on them since this afternoon, and we’ll need a group of people to distribute them. 

“I’ll do it,” came Bahorel’s gruff voice, followed by Bossuet’s, and Courfeyrac notified him that Feuilly had raised his hand in a silent confirmation. 

“What can I do?” Came Marius’ perky voice from somewhere in the room. In truth, Enjolras didn’t really have a good use for him, but he was good company, and his friend he brought along, Ebony? Ebonine? Something like that, she was good at spreading the word. 

“You, Marius, can sit and look pretty for me, yeah?” As Marius was relatively new to the group, Enjolras loved to mess with him. He wasn’t sure if Marius had figured out that all of the things that Enjolras said to him regarding his looks, compliments and insults alike, had essentially no substance. He doubted he did, because Enjolras definitely did not appear to be blind. His eyes, according to Combeferre, did not look like what people considered to be ‘blind eyes’. They looked ‘normal’. He didn’t like to tell people, mainly because he neither wanted nor needed their sympathy.To a normal person, he may appear to simply be a heavy daydreamer, but never would anyone guess by glancing at him that he was completely void of sight. 

“Y-You think I’m pretty?” Enjolras smirked. 

“Well, yeah. Who doesn’t love a man with freckles?” Courf had gone through a phase where he had been head over heels for Marius, and Enjolras and Combeferre had to sit through hours and hours of Courf’s rambles about how good looking he was up until it was unanimously decided that Marius was, indeed, straight as a pole. This, of course, caused Bahorel to fall off of the stool he was sat on, hunched over in a tremendous fit of laughter. It was rare that the mood in the Musain was this light, and it was even more rare for Enjolras to joke around like he was at that time. Because that meant his walls were down, and that was quite a feat. 

“And what, Bahorel, is so funny about our chief calling me pretty?” Bahorel couldn’t reply, for he was still on the floor, now in tears from laughing so hard. Enjolras suspected that the alcohol was partly to blame, for it really wasn’t all that funny. 

“Should we tell ‘im?” Courf asked, and Enjolras could hear the smirk that was probably plastered on his face. 

“Tell me what?” The cafe went quiet. Enjolras could feel a slight smile spread across his face. “Tell me what,” Marius asked again, this time more insistent. 

“He’s blind, Marius.” Marius scoffed. 

“Just because he thinks I’m pretty doesn’t mean he’s blind, Courf. We’re all entitled to our own opinions.” 

“No, I mean he’s actually blind.”

“I can’t see you,” Enjolras clarified, his smile growing wider. “So I have no idea whether or not you’re pretty. You could be, but for all I know you could be atrociously ugly.”

“Oh.” Enjolras imagined Marius to be a bright shade of red, though he wasn’t quite sure what red looked like. He knew that’s what people did when they were embarrassed. There were a few more shared laughs throughout the cafe, before Enjolras cleared his throat, and rather snappishly told everyone to get back to work. The walls were up again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R is introduced, and Courfeyrac has a genius plan.

Combeferre walked Enjolras home, insisting that it was too dangerous for him to be walking alone in the dark, despite Enjolras’ words of protest. The meeting had gone well, and a lot was accomplished, all in preparation for the upcoming court ruling. “Hey, Ferre?” Enjolras called as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He could hear the man stop in his tracks.   
“Yeah, Enj?” Enjolras smiled softly, reaching out to touch the man’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about the pamphlets, alright? Go home, and sleep.” Combeferre snorted, and Enjolras could imagine that he was rolling his eyes. 

“Like you will, I’m sure.” Enjolras shrugged. 

“Finals are still coming up, court ruling or not, and you know I’m not going to stop until I know that damn textbook cover to cover.” Combeferre sighed. 

“Don’t work yourself too hard, alright?” And both of them knew that there was no such thing as ‘too hard’ in Enjolras’ mind. That Enjolras would work until someone forced him to take a break. That’s how it always had been. But Enjolras nodded anyway, and he could hear Combeferre’s fading footsteps as he walked down the hall, further and further away. He turned to walk into his apartment, letting out a loud yelp as his hip hit the side of the kitchen counter. He cursed under his breath, feeling along the wall until he made it into the study. His apartment was, as Courf liked to put it, a miniature palace. Not that it really mattered to him, but his parents insisted that he had the best of the best. Unfortunately, all it did was make life more complicated. He always had a hard time navigating, always ending up walking into a wall or a bookcase or some other object that had seemed to come out of nowhere. He had asked to move into a smaller apartment, but his parents seemed to think that a smaller apartment meant a crappy apartment, and they refused to have people see their son as poor. He hated his parents, always had, but seeing as though he couldn’t get a job very easily, and college tuition was definitely not cheap, he had no choice but to stay in touch with them. They were, after all, his only source of income for the time being. He sat down in the large armchair, still rubbing his hip that he knew was going to bruise, and began the search for his textbook. It was special order, bigger than most, and entirely in braille. And of course, Enjolras was sitting on it. He managed to wedge it out from underneath his body, almost falling off the chair in the process, and effectively managed to knock over the large pile of books next to it. He swore under his breath again, deciding he’d deal with it later, and beginning to reread the law textbook that he practically knew by heart. He had nearly gotten through it when a loud knock at the door started him from his concentration. Enjolras couldn’t understand why someone would be at his door so late, until a quick brush over the watch on his wrist told him that it was no longer night, but 7 in the morning. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” he yelled, sliding off the armchair, rubbing at where his hip was still in great pain from last night’s mishap, and began to feel his way to the front door. He felt his way down the door until he found the doorknob, twisting the door open and being engulfed in a tight hug. 

“I’m a genius, Enj! I know the solution!” Enjolras couldn’t tell if he was just sleep deprived, or if what Courf was saying didn’t make any sense. “I shoulda seen it before! God, why am I so stupid!” 

“I’m sorry, what are you-”

“I’m going to write a poem!” Enjolras figured that he wasn’t talking about the court ruling, but rather devising a master plan to get his poet to notice him. 

“Or, you could just talk to him,” Enjolras started, making his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. That, he could do with no problems. Courf scoffed, hoisting himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen counter.

“That'd be too easy.” Enjolras rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.

“So, I’m sure you're the next Maya Angelou, right? Or perhaps Robert Frost? Maybe Shel Silverstein?” 

“All three, obviously.” Enjolras chuckled as he reached up to grab a coffee mug off of the shelf, praying to God that he would succeed in not breaking it this time. 

“Oh my god, what the hell happened?” It was then Enjolras remembered the bruise that had probably formed on his side. 

“I ran into the counter last night,” he stated, as though it was no big deal. He felt Courf walk over, and felt his fingers trace the outline of the presumably purple section of skin. 

“Ouch. Yanno, Enj, one of these days you could really hurt yourself.” Enjolras shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee he had successfully managed to pour.

“Well, that day hasn't come yet,” he stated, wincing as the coffee burned the roof of his mouth. 

“You should really get a roommate. That way, we won't have to worry about you accidentally killing yourself in the middle of the night. And let me just say that I will gladly volunteer, to ensure that my best friend doesn't stab himself in the middle of the night on accident.” Enjolras took another sip of his scalding coffee, raising an eyebrow. 

“Courf, be honest,” He started, a smirk creeping across his face, “Are you really concerned about my safety? Or is this because of Joly and Bossuet?” Courfeyrac let out an aggravated sigh, and Enjolras could imagine him running his hands through his hair. 

“ Ever since they came out to us they haven't even bothered to be quiet! Before they at least tried to keep the moaning to a minimum.” Enjolras couldn't help but smile at the thought of Courf curled up into bed, kept awake by the sounds of Joly ‘riding Boss like a horse’ as he put it, though Enjolras didn't quite know how one would ride a horse. “Please, Enj?” 

“If you're ok with sleeping on the couch,” he stated, going to pour his friend a cup of the hopefully still warm coffee.

“Not that I wouldn't love to sleep on your couch, Enj, but don't you have a second bedroom?” 

“I do?” Courf chuckled at his friends genuinely confused expression that soon turned to one of annoyance. “This apartment is so damn big I wouldn't be surprised if there are rooms I don’t know about. If you can find it, it's yours. Even if you can't, I’m sure we can set up a space for you.” Courfeyrac’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Enjolras, taking his friend’s silence as something negative, frowned. “I-Is that not okay? You could have my bedroom, if you like. I hardly ever use it-” Courf cut him off. 

“No, no, there’s no need for that, Enj, I just- Thank you.” Enjolras smiled, feeling around until he found Courf’s hand on the counter. 

“You're my best friend Courf, it's really no problem. And like you said, one of these days I'll end up running into that damn spiky thing on the wall.” Courf laughed. 

“You mean the coat hanger?” 

“Is that what it is? Huh. The more you know, I guess. Do you know how ‘Ferre is doing with the pamphlets? I told him to go home and sleep, but you and I both know he won’t do anything of the sort,” Enjolras stated, sounding exasperated. He hated that ‘Ferre would work himself to the point of insanity if no one stepped in. Courfeyrac, of course, found this amusing, unable to keep the smile from creeping across his face. Because everyone knew that Enjolras was far worse than Combeferre when it came to taking care of himself. Even now, he could see the dark circles forming around Enjolras’ eyes, knowing that the man probably hadn’t slept a wink. He knew it was just the beginning of finals studying, and in a few weeks he and ‘Ferre would have to stage their yearly intervention. Last year, Enjolras had worked himself to the point in which he needed to go to the hospital, and Combeferre had yelled at him for nearly two hours about how he needed to take better care of himself when he was released. Enjolras, of course, took Combeferre’s lecture with a grain of salt, and proceeded to work himself until he landed himself in the hospital once more. 

“I haven’t talked to ‘Ferre today. I came straight here when I woke up after the answer to getting Flower Boy to notice me came to me in a dream.” Enjolras quirked an eyebrow.

“We’re calling him flower boy now?” He asked, feeling his way into the living room, and taking a seat on one of the couches. 

“Yes. Because yesterday, when the meeting at the Musain was done, I went to the poetry slam at Le Café Exquis, and there he was. He had the most beautiful flowers braided into his hair, all different colours.” 

“Hence flower boy,” Enjolras finished, crossing his legs and scooting back on the couch, beginning to run his fingers over the papers discussing the upcoming pride festival. 

“Exactement, mon ami. Hey, do you want to help me write the poem for him? They’re doing another show tonight, and I overheard flower boy saying he was going to be there.” Enjolras set the paper back down on the couch beside him, tying his hair into a loose ponytail in an attempt to get his curls in check. One stray kept falling into his face, and he eventually gave up, letting it rest just to the left of his right eye. 

“So let me get this straight, you are going to go to this poetry slam, get up in front of all of those people, and read a poem about a man you’ve never actually talked to in hopes he’ll notice you?” 

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” Enjolras sighed, patting the spot on the couch next to him, and soon felt the couch dip with Courfeyrac’s added weight. 

“Courf, don’t try to be someone you’re not just to get a guy to notice you. Just be you, yeah? What happens if he approaches you thinking you’re some poetry loving literary enthusiast, only to be repelled by the fact you’d rather die than read a book, and most certainly do not like poetry? You’ll just end up heartbroken, and God knows the last time you were upset about a guy you had the whole Musain in tears.” 

“Except for you.” Enjolras chuckled. 

“Well unfortunately, I physically cannot cry, but believe me, I was crying in spirit.”

“Who are you, and what on Earth have you done with my best friend?” Enjolras cracked a smile, resting his head against Courf’s shoulder. 

“Well, Courf, you seem to really like this guy, and even though I still truly believe that love is a waste of time and energy, who am I to stop you from ‘following your heart’, as they say. So, Courf, it is my duty as your best friend to make sure you do this properly. Besides, you and ‘Ferre come first.” Courfeyrac gasped. 

“Even before rising avocado prices in South America?” Enjolras nodded. 

“Even before the rising avocado prices. Did you know that they raise the price by two cents every week? It’s a complete injustice, seeing as though those people are the ones who grow the avocados, and yet we are able to consume them for cheaper than they can!” Before Courf could open his mouth to reply, his phone began to ring, an unknown number flashing on the screen. 

“Mind if I take this?” Enjolras shook his head, taking hold of the pride day paper once more and beginning to run his fingers over the grooves once more. 

“But don’t you want to hear about the injustice of the-”

“Not really, Enj. I love you and all, but I should really take this.” Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Fine. Take your call.” Courfeyrac smiled, kissing Enjolras’ cheek before walking into Enjolras’ room to pick up the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Courfeyrac?”

“This is he. To whom, may I ask, am I speaking?” 

“Oh, right, sorry. This is R, from art history? I uh, got your number from Eponine, the girl who I guess goes to some of your social justice club meetings or something, and I was just wondering if you knew anything about the upcoming research paper?” Courfeyrac did indeed remember the boy with the wild curly hair that had sat next to him in his required art history class, and recalled specifically that he hadn’t payed attention to the entire lecture, instead electing to doodle random drawings in a notebook. He hardly pegged him as someone who cared about his grades, and thus thought the nature of the question to be rather odd. 

“I know that there’s an upcoming research paper, but that’s all. Sorry, man. If you like, I could see if anyone else knows anything about it.” The man on the other end of the line chuckled. 

“That’s alright. I was just wondering how long I had to come up with a convincing letter about how a relative died and beg for a waiver.” That sounded more like what he would expect from someone of R’s nature. Courf couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Isn’t that a little more trouble than it’s worth?” 

“Yeah, but see, if I have to write one more damned paper about Eugene Delacroix, I may actually kill myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love Delacroix’s works, but there’s only so much information you have to work with, yanno?” Courf chuckled. 

“No, I can't say I do know, but I get the gist. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Assuming I'm not completely and totally hungover, which isn't likely, yes. See you tomorrow, Courfeyrac.”

“Please, just call me Courf.” He hung up the phone, turning to walk out the door and seeing Enjolras feeling around the wall.

“You good, Enj?” The blonde looked up, giving a small smile, and proceeded to feel along the wall for something. 

“Yeah, just looking for that damn cane. Was that your poet?” 

“No, he’s just a friend from my art history class.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow, stopping his aimless feeling against the wall to stare in Courf’s direction. 

“I thought you were a theater major.” 

“I thought so too, but apparently we need to know the history of 16th century French artworks to make it in the theater industry,” Courf drawled, rolling his eyes at how dumb the college board system is. 

“You gonna fuck ‘im?” He nearly choked on his own spit. 

“What?!” Enjolras shrugged, feeling his way to where Courf was sat on the bed. 

“Usually, when you talk to guys, you have the intention of fucking them.” 

“Well, as attractive as he is, he’s not really my type.” Enjolras laid back on the bed, deciding that he really did not feel like finding his cane, despite the fact that he really did need it. 

“Tell me,” he said, and Courf knew what he meant. Enjolras always asked the same question when mentioned new people. He wanted him to describe them, wanted to get a feel for what they looked like. Granted, he didn't know the difference between straight hair and curly hair, big eyes and small eyes, brown or black or blonde, but he liked to imagine. 

“Well, for starters, he’s tall. Like, really tall, around 6’6. Strong build, broad shoulders, does boxing with Bahorel sometimes. His hair is curly, like yours, but it's more wild and unkempt, and it's darker, almost black. His eyes are blue, but they're lighter than yours, almost clear. Really pretty. His teeth are kinda crooked, but in a cute kind of way, yanno? He always has stubble littering his chin, and he's perpetually covered in paint. He's an amazing artist, truly, I think he'll go places with it. He's always sketching in class, and some of those drawings look so real, it's as though one could reach out and grab it. I kinda feel bad for him, Enj. I think he's had a rough past. He's a heavy drinker, and he smokes. He's so jaded, and he acts like a cynical ass all the time. He believes in nobody, and no thing. But I think it's a defense mechanism, yanno?” Enjolras nods.

“What's his name?” 

“Well, most people call him R, but Grantaire.” Grantaire. It suited the image that Enjolras had created in his head. “I've tried to get him to come to our meetings, but he doesn't want to. Says it's a lost cause, that we're wasting our time.” Usually, Enjolras didn't like to invest time in people who didn't believe in the things he did, but something about this man, the man he had never actually met, made him want to. 

“Well, Courf, we'll just have to change his mind, then, won't we?” Courfeyrac opened his mouth to protest, to say Grantaire was beyond being changed, but promptly decided against it. Once Enjolras put his mind to something, there was no stopping him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know there wasn't a lot of R in this chapter, but there will be, I swear! Once again, thank you to everyone who is reading this. It truly means the world to me, and I wholeheartedly appreciate it. The next chapter should be up soon, as soon as I'm done editing it. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comments below, and I will definitely take them into consideration! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras and Grantaire meet.

“C’mon, R, get your lazy ass up,” barked a familiar voice. His head felt like it was about a thousand pounds, and all he wanted to do was lay in bed forever. 

“Five more minutes, Ep,” he mumbled, burying his face in his pillow. Grantaire couldn't remember the last time he had felt this hungover. If he had to say, it may have been his freshman year of high school, when his first, and only, boyfriend had dumped him. 

“No, not ‘five more minutes’,” Eponine snapped, tearing the covers off off Grantaire’s body and throwing them across the room. “You’re going to be late! And there is no way in hell I am writing any more emails to your professors about why you didn’t show up again.” Grantaire groaned, lifting himself up, taking the steaming cup of coffee Eponine was shoving in his face with a grateful smile and taking a sip.

“Shouldn't you be in class?” He asked with a pointed look, taking another sip of the steaming brown liquid. Eponine shrugged, handing him two pills and instructing him to take them.

“Yes, but I had to make sure you got out of bed before I leave for the rest of the day.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought your last class ended at 6,” he stated, swinging his legs over the bed and going to find something decent to wear to class. 

“I do, but I'm helping a friend create some pamphlets for Les Amis afterwards, and then we’re all meeting at Le Café Exquis, because Courf is going to make a complete and utter fool of himself, and we're all going to watch.” 

“Sounds fun,” Grantaire mumbled, feeling a pang of jealousy. Eponine was a social butterfly; she could make friends wherever she went, and Grantaire was the exact opposite. He liked to consider Courfeyrac his friend, but other than him and Eponine, he had no one. Eponine frowned at his sudden change in demeanor.

“You're more than welcome to come, R. I thought you said you didn't like, quote, ‘all that social justice bull’.” He shrugged, running a hand through his unruly curls. 

“I don't, but it's better than spending another night alone…” he trailed off, not needing to say anything else. Eponine knew that Grantaire has dark thoughts when he was alone. One night, she had come home to Grantaire sitting on the railing of the balcony, bottle of whiskey in one hand, the other holding a bottle of scotch. She remembered pulling him back, giving a stern lecture about how he could’ve lost his balance and fallen the ten stories down to his death. She remembered the empty look in his eyes and the bitter smile on his face as he downed another gulp of whiskey and pushed past her into the kitchen. “Maybe I wanted to,” he had said, and the words still haunted Eponine every time she came home to R piss drunk, the same empty look in his eyes. She didn’t like to think about what could’ve happened had she arrived any later than she had. After that night, she had padlocked the door to the balcony, giving Combeferre the key, and telling him to hide it somewhere R couldn’t find it. She still didn’t like leaving R alone, but she knew that if she babied him, he would just become more upset, more closed off, and more likely to do something stupid. Eponine cleared her throat, the awkward lingering silence becoming too much for her to tolerate. 

“Right then, um, well, I’m going to be at the Musain until around 8, and then we’re all meeting at Le Café Exquis at 8:30. It’s just going to be ‘Ferre and I at the Musain, but you’re more than welcome to come.” Grantaire had never actually met any of the members of her social justice group, but he knew their names, and quite a lot about them. He knew that Combeferre was the logical one, and that Courfeyrac was in charge of gaining supporters. He knew that Bahorel was definitely the brawn of the group, but that he was actually quite intelligent, though he never cared to showcase his intelligence, instead favoring being the group’s personal bodyguard. He knew Feuilly built and invented stuff, and he also knew that he worked three jobs just to pay for engineering school. Joly was their on call medical assistance, and Bossuet had a knack for destroying things. And then there was their fearless leader. Eponine didn’t really talk about him, mainly because she didn’t know him all that well. He knew that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were his best friends, and all of Les Amis believed wholeheartedly in everything he did. He also knew that their fearless leader was blind. He remembered Eponine coming home after a meeting, absolutely astonished.  
Grantaire didn’t really see the big deal. He had told Eponine that he probably just saw it as an opportunity to get people to join their cause, even daring to say that he made himself blind. Eponine had told him that he was being insensitive, but he didn’t care. The guy wasn’t around to hear it, so why did it matter what he said? Eponine seemed to pick up on his thoughts, as she usually did, and frowned. 

“At least try not to be a dick tonight, R. Please?” Grantaire shrugged, checking himself in the mirror to make sure he was presentable before heading towards the door, sketchbook in hand. 

“Yeah, alright.” Eponine fixed him with an intense stare. 

“I’m serious. They’re really great people, R, truly, and-”

“And you don’t want me to fuck up their impression of you,” Grantaire finished, smiling bitterly as he placed his beanie on his head and unlocked the apartment door. 

“No, I don’t want them to get a bad impression of you. You’re not as much of as a dick as you portray yourself to be, and these people, they- They never judge anyone, regardless of their flaws. They didn’t judge when I told them how I payed for my first year here, and they most certainly will not judge you for your problems. So please, I know you don’t really want to go, but- You never know, R, maybe you’ll make some friends tonight.” Eponine spoke so gently that Grantaire almost wanted to cry. He knew that she had had a rough freshman year, that she had turned to prostitution in order to pay the debt she owed, and he knew how utterly insecure she felt about it. A flicker of guilt flared up in his gut, but he dismissed it, turning to walk out the door. 

“I’ll see you later, Ep,” he said, and left her alone in the apartment. He really didn’t want to go to art history, but he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t go the next time, or the next time, or the next time until it eventually became too late for him to salvage his grade in the class, and he’d fail. This was his second time in this class, the first time being a few years ago, when he was supposed to start college. Unfortunately, he was too busy being a depressed drunkard to do anything but sulk, paint, and drink, and ended up dropping out altogether. So now, he was 24 in a class of students that were no older than 21.  
He didn’t mind, though sometimes it was quite annoying when he was interrogated by younger students, wondering why he was still in college, and not out getting a job. He reached the art building not too long after his thoughts began to wander off to places he’d rather not go to, and he was thankful that he was just on time, meaning he had no time for his mind to venture before class begun either. He began to walk up the steps to the arts building, turning around when someone called his name. It was Courfeyrac. The younger man smiled as he bounced up the stairs, his mop of hair going up and down with every step. 

“I take it you're not too hungover then,” he joked as the two headed towards the massive doors. Grantaire sighed, though a small smile was still on his face.

“Nope, still hungover. Unfortunately, I've been forced to be responsible today.” Courfeyrac laughed, opening the door and stepping inside of the art building, keeping it open for Grantaire to step through. “Thank you.” Courf nodded, closing the door behind him, and following Grantaire into the large lecture hall. They took seats towards the front, much to Grantaire’s dismay, and began to chat idly about whatever they could think of. 

“So have you been commissioned yet?” Courf asked, and Grantaire shook his head. 

“I mean, I've been offered a few times, but I've declined. The kind of art they wanted wasn't really my style.” 

“Well, what is your style?” Grantaire wasn't really used to talking about his artwork. Nobody really asked, and so he never said anything. He shrugged in response, pulling out his sketchbook and putting it on the tiny desk.

“I like to paint people, but I always get requests for landscapes. Don't get me wrong, I can paint landscapes, but I much prefer people.” 

“Do you use models?” Grantaire shrugged again, twirling his pencil between his fingers.

“Sometimes, but unfortunately, I’m a little strapped for cash, and there aren't any worthy models that are willing to work for free.”

“I'll model for you,” Courf joked, striking a pose and leaning against the desk. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. 

“Sure, Courf. I'd like to see you pose for me for three hours, no break.” Of course, Grantaire may have been exaggerating just a small bit about the no breaks part, but he really didn't care to say so after seeing the horrified look on Courf’s face. 

“Nevermind.” Grantaire chuckled, beginning to sketch the outline of an eye. The professor walked in not a minute later, and class begun. Grantaire, of course, payed the woman not an ounce of mind, and Courfeyrac, as much as he tried, simply could not pay attention. His mind kept wandering to what was going to happen that night. He knew that there really wasn't anything to be worried about, that if flower boy rejected him it wasn't the end of the world, and yet his stomach felt as though a million butterflies had taken up residence within its walls. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, his eyes settling on Grantaire’s hands, which were still shading and smudging the paper in front of him furiously. Grantaire truly was a phenomenal artist, and Courfeyrac wanted nothing more than for him to succeed. Unfortunately, no matter how good of an artist Grantaire was, no sketches could distract him from thinking about flower boy. 

“What's goin on, Courf?” Grantaire whispered, stopping his sketching to send him a concerned look. “Is everything okay?” 

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Courfeyrac mumbled, fiddling with his pencil. “I just- Will you read this for me?” Though Enjolras and Combeferre both read the poem time and time again, he still wanted another opinion. He shoved the poem into Grantaire’s hands, and turned to look at him as Grantaire read it. 

“What is this for?” He asked, placing the poem back into Courfeyrac’s shaking hands. 

“W-Well there's this guy,” he started, but that's all he needed to say. Grantaire understood. Though he had only been in one serious relationship, he had gone to great lengths to get the guy to notice him. As he told Courfeyrac the story, he didn't mention the fact that it had really only been one sided, and that the man had agreed on a date from his friends, for that would make him more nervous than he already was. 

“Well, at least you'll have your friends there for you, yeah? I'll be there too, for Ep, but I'll probably be too drunk to be of much help.” He cracked a small smile, placing his hand on top of Courf’s. “I may not know you that well, Courf, but I can tell you that he'd be a fool to say no.” 

“You hitting on me, R?” Grantaire laughed, shaking his head. 

“Sorry, Courf. You're not really my type. I'm just saying that you seem like you'd be a pretty great boyfriend. Besides, you seem like you really like this guy.” 

“That’s what Enj said, too.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Enj?”

“Enjolras. He’s kind of the leader of our group, but he knows he couldn't do it without ‘Ferre and I. You'll probably meet him tonight. Trust me, I know he puts on the ‘I’m all cold and heartless’ bullshit, but he's a total softie. It just takes a while to break the outer shell.” Grantaire didn't particularly care, for he was probably never going to see the fearless leader again after tonight. The bell rang, dismissing the class for the time being, and Courfeyrac and Grantaire walked out of the lecture hall together, Courfeyrac rambling about how excited he was for Grantaire to be coming, talking about how lovely the Amis were, similar to what Eponine had told him earlier that day.   
They walked to the Musain together, and then parted ways, Courfeyrac going into the small cafe, while Grantaire proceeded to walk the two miles back to his apartment. He really should've driven, but his morning hungover self didn't have much common sense. Eponine was gone when he arrived at the apartment, which came as no surprise to him; it was only 2:00, which meant she was most likely in her ‘intro to French’ class. Grantaire had offered to help her, seeing as though he had lived in Paris all of his life, and therefore was well versed in the French language, but she declined, stating that she was going to learn on her own, with no outside help. Grantaire decided it was just as well, because even though he was pretty good at French, and though he had a French name, he was Greek through and through. Sometimes, he would mix up the words, producing a weird combination language that confused the hell out of the native French speakers.   
Deciding he had time before he had to leave, he decided to take a nap, for he knew that if he was awake and left to his own devices, he would be trashed before the night had even begun.  
***  
The moment Grantaire walked into the small hipster joint, he knew he was totally, completely, royally fucked. There, only a few feet away, talking to Courfeyrac and Eponine, was the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. His curly blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and he was frustratedly trying to push back the strays that had come to rest near his eyes, which were the most gorgeous shade of blue he had ever seen. He had pale skin, which, as he got closer, Grantaire noticed was smattered with light freckles. His bone structure made him appear as though he was carved out of marble, as though he was apollo himself. He had a small build, but Grantaire could tell through his slightly too tight dress shirt that he was well toned.   
Grantaire didn't realize he was staring until Courfeyrac turned to face him, a smirk on his face as he noticed Grantaire's shell shocked expression. “Take a picture,” he said, the smirk still on his face, “It'll last longer.” 

“Excuse me?” Apollo asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Not you, Enjy.” 

“Then whom, Courf, are you talking to?” Something seemed to click in Courfeyrac’s eyes and he smiled. 

“Right! Enjolras, this is Grantaire. Grantaire, Enjolras.” Apollo smiled in his general direction, but not at him, and extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you.” God, Grantaire wanted to melt at the sound of Enjolras’ voice. 

“Th-The pleasure is mine,” he stuttered, gingerly shaking Enjolras’ hand, running his other hand through his mess of curls. And then it clicked. Enjolras. As in, fearless leader Enjolras. As in ‘I’m blind so pity me’ Enjolras. Any warm feelings that Grantaire had possessed only moments ago had faded away, leaving hatred and annoyance in their place. He pulled his hand away, leaving Enjolras looking a bit shocked, but Grantaire couldn't care less. “Is this the part where you try to guilt me into joining your dumb cause?” He asked, his voice cold. 

“I’m not sure I know what you-” 

“Oh, please, don't try. I'm not joining the ‘we all pity the poor blind man so let's follow what he says and make it seem as though we actually care about whatever the fuck he's talking about’ party,” he stalked away to the bar, leaving Enjolras genuinely confused, and Courfeyrac even more so. Eponine sighed, running her hands through her hair, and looking at Grantaire, who was busily downing half a bottle of whiskey, annoyance clear on his face. 

“I’m sorry about that, Enj, he’s not usually like this.” Enjolras just shook his head. He was used to people being assholes to him, he was used to people trashing his cause, but Grantaire's words stung. 

“Enjolras, don't listen to him, it's not true,” Courfeyrac started pulling the smaller man into a tight hug. Enjolras pulled away, his expression stone cold. Eponine had simply thought that he wasn't all that torn up about Grantaire’s words, but Courfeyrac knew better. He would talk to him later about it, but for now, he had a poem to read. He stood up, leaning closer to Enjolras so that his mouth was just by his ear.

“You gonna be okay for a moment?” Enjolras scoffed.

“Of course, Courf. I’m not going to be brought down by some drunk asshole. Especially not a drunk asshole who has no idea what he's talking about.” Courfeyrac could sense the lie from a mile away, but didn't press, simply going up to the stage to read his poem and pray to God his night would go better than Enjolras’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the kinda late update, I've been out of town and haven't really had time to write anything. I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate everyone that has been reading this, it means the fucking world to me! Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments, and I'll try to update ASAP :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac recites a poem, and Grantaire gets chewed out

By the time he had reached the stage, Courfeyrac was practically shaking. He hadn’t a clue as to how it would go, and his mind kept prompting him to assume the worst. Flower boy was sitting on the edge of the stage, his eyes glued intently on Courfeyrac, and that most certainly did not help the swarm of butterflies in Courfeyrac’s stomach, not one single bit. Flower boy smiled at him, giving him a small thumbs up, and suddenly, all of Courfeyrac’s nerves started to dissipate. He took a deep breath, and began his poem, refusing to look anywhere but the clock on the wall.  
There is a man, I see him every day,  
His eyes seem to glimmer in a beautiful way,  
His hair is auburn, goes down his back,  
In intricate braids that make my jaw go slack

I love him, I think, though I don’t know his name  
And now that I think, I’m the one to blame,  
For each day that I see him, my heart beats fast,  
And what do I do? I turn and walk past

And yes it’s quite stupid, that I’m nervous to speak,  
But his voice makes my stomach feel like jelly, and he makes my knees weak.  
And this fact is quite certain, there need be no mistake,   
This man gives me a feeling that I simply cannot shake. 

Courfeyrac shakily walked off the stage, not wanting to watch for flower boy’s reaction. He took a seat next to Enjolras, who gave him an endearing smile, placing his hand on Courfeyrac’s thigh. “That was beautiful,” he whispered. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve heard me rehearse it a million times, Enj.” 

“Yeah, but you spoke with such sincerity and passion.” The rest of the group nodded, clearly having eavesdropped on what Enjolras was saying. None of them even dared crack a joke, for the realization that Courfeyrac truly cared for the man with the flowers in his hair hit them all like a ton of bricks. 

“E-Excuse me?” Courfeyrac nearly fell off of his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere. He turned and faced flower boy, who was nervously playing with his fingers, a blush coating his cheeks. “Courfeyrac, right?” Courfeyrac could only nod, his eyes wide. This man. Knew. His. Name. 

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. Have fun, Courf!” Enjolras hopped off of his seat, heading towards the exit of the cafe, Combeferre hot on his heels, listing off reasons why Enjolras should not walk home alone. Courf rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at the two as they exited, leaving him and flower boy alone. Well, as alone as they could get. Flower boy smiled nervously. 

“D-Do you mind if I sit?” Courfeyrac wasn’t listening. The man was even more beautiful up close, he decided, and all he wanted to do kiss him until he couldn't breathe and then kiss him some more.

“Huh? Oh! Y-Yeah, yeah of course!” Flower boy was quite a bit shorter than Courfeyrac and Enjolras, so when he took a seat in Enjolras’ previously occupied seat, his feet didn’t come close to touching the ground, and Courfeyrac found it absolutely fucking adorable. 

“I-It’s Jehan, by the way.” He spoke just barely above a whisper. 

“I’m sorry?” Joly was right, Courfeyrac really needed to get his ears checked. 

“Well, Jean Prouvaire actually,” Flower boy started, voice a tad bit louder, “But friends call me Jehan.” 

“Beautiful,” Courfeyrac mumbled, but Jehan heard him, and his face went red, a shy smile on his face. 

“Really?” Courfeyrac nodded, scooting his chair closer to him, so that they were only mere inches apart. It was then that he noticed that, instead of the usual vibrant, crazy flowers in his hair, Jehan had small daisies interwoven with his long French braid. 

“Yanno, daisies are my favorite flowers.” Jehan giggled, actually giggled, and nodded his head, his eyes crinkling as he smiled the smile that made Courfeyrac’s heart swell. 

“I know.” Jehan could see the confusion on Courfeyrac’s face, and began to elaborate. “Your friends, the ones that walked out a few minutes ago, they told me. They also told me how nervous you were about reading that poem.” Jehan took Courfeyrac’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and proceeded to lean closer in order to whisper in his ear. “There was no need to be nervous, love.” Courfeyrac flushed red. 

“W-Well, I uh-” The next thing he knew, Jehan’s lips were pressed against his. It wasn't a very long kiss, but it was quite possibly one of the most wonderful kisses Courfeyrac had ever received, nothing like all of the kisses he had shared with the other men and women he had taken interest in. Courfeyrac pulled away smiling, and Jehan smiled back. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Courfeyrac blurted, and Jehan’s face took on a hesitant expression. 

“I-” Courfeyrac’s eyes widened as he realized what Jehan must’ve interpreted the question as, and quickly rephrased. 

“Nonono not like that, I just meant- Do you wanna leave? And, I dunno, get coffee? Or cuddle at my place and watch a movie? Well, I mean technically it’s Enj’s place but I doubt he’d m-” Jehan cut him off with a kiss, and then placed his hand on Courf’s thigh. 

“A movie and cuddling sounds spectacular, Love.” He hopped off the stool, taking Courf’s hand and helping him down. “Lead the way.”  
***  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Eponine screamed as her and R stepped into their shared apartment. “You said you’d be nice! That was the complete opposite of nice!! God, R, you’re such a fucking asshole sometimes!” Grantaire, too drunk to feel even an ounce of guilt, even as Eponine stood in front of him with tears welling in her eyes, simply shrugged. 

“C’mon, Ep, you can’t seriously tell me that you believe in all of what he says. It’s just idealist bullshit.” Eponine’s glare intensified, and she did something she had thought about quite often, but never actually did. She slapped Grantaire as hard as she could, sending the bottle of wine in his hand to the ground. 

“Those people are my friends, Grantaire, the only people besides you who understand me, who respect me, and treat me as their equals, and you went and fucked it up for me!” She sighed, running a hand through her hair, and kicking the wall beside her to avoid slapping Grantaire again. “You’re apologizing tomorrow,” She said, after a long period of silence. Her voice was sharp. Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “You’re coming to the meeting tomorrow and you’re fucking apologizing.” Grantaire, now starting to feel a twang of guilt as he slowly returned to sobriety, sighed. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Ep, I-” 

“No! You’re not fucking sorry! I asked one thing of you, and you blatantly disregarded it.” Grantaire began to feel even more guilty as tears started to flow down Eponine’s cheeks, and when he stood up to hug her, she ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. Grantaire sighed, sitting back on the couch, picking up the bottle of wine from the floor that miraculously hadn’t broken, and began to chug it down, wishing to be numb, to not feel the guilt, to not feel anything.   
***  
By the time Combeferre and Enjolras had reached their destination, Enjolras had effectively fallen on his face multiple times due to the craggly sidewalk, ran into three fire hydrants, and a telephone pole. He only got this way, Combeferre knew, when he was upset. It didn’t happen very often, the last time being in high school, but when it did, Combeferre knew that Enjolras would not be in a state to take care of himself, and as much as Combeferre wanted to go home and sleep, there was no way in hell he was leaving Enjolras at home by himself, despite Enjolras’ endless protests that he was fine, and in no need of help. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” Combeferre asked as he pulled Enjolras into his lap, rubbing soothing circles onto his back. Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am not stubborn.” Combeferre chuckled, resting his head on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Sure you're not.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but found he had neither the energy or the willpower to do so. All he wanted to do was sleep. Combeferre, noticing Enjolras’ silence, sighed, and pulled the man closer.

“He’ll come round eventually, Enjolras.” Enjolras nodded.

“I know. And I'm not going to stop until he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I know this chapter is super short, but I just got back in town, and I just wanted to post at least something. Thank you guys so so much for reading this, and for all of the comments! If you have any suggestions or criticism feel free to leave them in the comments. Once again, thank you so much and I'll have a new update up soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so first of all, thank you to everyone who is reading this, I really do appreciate it a whole lot. There's obviously going to be a lot more Grantaire in the upcoming chapters, so there's something to look forward to! Feel free to leave any comments or suggestions, and I will definitely take them into consideration. Once again, thank you so so much for reading, and I'll try to update as soon as possible!


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